The Fledgling's Wings
by mildlyokay
Summary: After a Long Interval, the Fifth Pass has begun. Fort Weyr experiences terrible losses under Weyrwoman Belia and Weyrleader J'vrex. When Threadfall claims Belia's life, N'thal of Benden Weyr finds himself tasked with investigating the problems at Fort.


**Full Summary** : After a Long Interval, the Fifth Pass has begun. Fort Weyr experiences terrible losses under Weyrwoman Belia and Weyrleader J'vrex. When a horrific accident during Threadfall claims Belia's life, wingleader N'thal of Benden Weyr finds himself burdened with investigating the problems at Fort.

He must ingratiate himself to Fort's riders and to Weyrleader J'vrex while avoiding the man's suspicions, all before the next queen rises. His own Weyrleaders have designs for him, plans he has little interest in fulfilling. N'thal will do his duty to Benden and to Pern, but as far as he's concerned, courting meek Miralise is not one of those duties.

* * *

 **Chapter One  
Fort Weyr  
** **11.01.01 of the Fifth Pass**

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N'thal of Benden Weyr held the sealed correspondence in one hand as he marched to the council chamber where Fort's bronze riders were, according to his contact, assembled in council. He followed the glow lit corridor and stopped outside, pursing his lips at the ongoing shouting match. He adjusted his shoulder knot and composed his posture. A tall and muscled smith apprentice before his Impression, twenty four Turns as a bronze rider had taught N'thal that his proud bearing, towering stature, and powerful frame granted instant respect. He stepped into the expansive room, shocked to observe a council so antagonistic he could feel the undercurrents of an impending melee. The men remained so engrossed in their animated argument that he went unnoticed. This critical moment needed interference.

"Gentlemen," he boomed in his deep, resonant baritone. The shouting stopped and twenty or so hostile faces turned to regard him with varying combinations of irritation, confusion, and admiration; his voice and his stature had again served his purposes. He quelled his satisfaction, surveying the room and scrutinizing the assembled riders, seeking out the infamously fractious Weyrleader of Fort.

"Jays, what whershit is this?" a leathery blond man bristled in an unpleasant, plaintive tenor as he gestured rudely at N'thal.

N'thal regarded him with polite indifference. Although he'd never seen J'vrex up close, he immediately knew him from the descriptions and imitations of others. The weatherworn skin, skewed nose, nasal tone, and tasteless conduct all indicated him as Fort's Weyrleader. Heeding Bl'mol's warnings for patience and restraint, N'thal slowed his breathing. With affected calm and deference, he asked, "Weyrleader J'vrex?"

"Yeah, and who, by the First Egg, are you?" J'vrex demanded, his pale eyes bugging in his agitation. Their contrast with his reddened skin might be comically absurd another day, but today N'thal was wary of those wild, shifty eyes.

"Wingleader N'thal of Benden Weyr, rider of bronze Qualth," he supplied with formal grace, a smart salute, and a politely inclined head, all done as Bl'mol had instructed him that morning. When J'vrex's lips twitched open to snarl a response, N'thal swiftly spoke a prefacing explanation while offering the sealed message skin. "A message from Weyrleader Bl'mol of Benden, offering your Weyr my wing's services in your time of need. Ch'dagel of Igen and N'nemm of the High Reaches offer wings as well if you require further respite during your time of mourning. Telgar and Ista have not the resources at the moment."

J'vrex eyed him distrustfully, perhaps interpreting the half-truth in the last sentence as insult, and then snatched the roll from N'thal's grasp. He traced a gnarled fingertip over the Benden seal, giving a mocking snort upon recognizing its authenticity. He popped it open and unrolled the message. His lips silently formed the words in twitches and snarls as he read. When he reached the end, he grimaced and nonchalantly tossed the skin on the council table. He met N'thal's gaze for a moment, eyes glinting dangerously with unchecked loathing, and then turned his attention to his bronze riders. Half had scrambled to grab the message, snatching it back and forth like spit canines might a fallen scrap. J'vrex watched their undisciplined display with avid amusement until boredom overcame him. He glowered in disgust and slammed a fist against the table. "Enough! Who are any of you to read correspondence between Weyrleaders?"

The offending riders stopped squabbling and set the skin aside. No one dared look at it.

"Hand it to me," J'vrex ordered an alarmed young rider. The young man snatched it up and extended it to the Weyrleader without looking at him. J'vrex tossed it to a grizzled man to his right, who then then leaned towards J'vrex to exchange hushed words and wary glances. J'vrex let out a sharp bark of sarcastic laughter and tilted his head as he turned to consider N'thal with scornful pale eyes raking over the Benden wingleader as though preparing to reprimand an erring weyrling. N'thal waited, unflinching beneath the bombastic posturing, and at last J'vrex's mouth twitched into a snarling smirk as he unloaded into a taunting tirade. "So Bl'mol has sent you to spy on Fort, eh? Guess blessed Benden needs to learn a few things these days? Trying to steal our fighting tactics? Old Bl'mol barely knows tail fork from snout these days, the sniveling old auntie. Hope he enjoys the hollow echo in Eloria's cunny…when she even lets him touch her, that is! We all know she rides men better than she rides her dragon! Though, you can't blame a healthy Weyrwoman for sleeping around in despair at her dragon's choices when a man's that old, and an old man isn't going to fill that emptiness. Then again, a real man in his prime probably couldn't please the Great Dragonslut of the East. But at least Benden does its duty to the first Weyr, unlike Ista and Telgar. Even if Thread swarmed 'em, I wouldn't 'em 'til they recognized their place."

Immediate silence settled over the chamber, the stunned men immobile except to breathe. J'vrex sat down and leaned back in his chair, fixing N'thal with a predatory look. N'thal glanced from J'vrex to the awestruck man beside him, then back to J'vrex. Although his heart pattered frantically beneath the weight of a few surprisingly germane accusation, N'thal met the unwavering pale gaze with an unmoved expression that he maintained by silently repeating Bl'mol's pronouncement: J'vrex used these diatribes to goad men into attacking him first. As they stared each other down, N'thal parsed J'vrex's words and understood that the man had taken insult to the polite fiction behind Ista's and Telgar's inaction. Weyrlingmasters repeated warnings to weyrlings about J'vrex, based (if the stories were true) on two infamous incidents with weyrling from those two Weyrs. A weyrling had once gone home to Telgar swathed in wool after he'd taken a knife to the gut for pulling a knife on J'vrex; adding insult to injury, the weyrling had arrived with an attached note demanding repayment for the boy's insolence. An Istan weyrling had returned home with a broken nose and shattered teeth, leaving healers the unusual task of fashioning dentures for an adolescent. The boys had protested J'vrex's account, but no one could take a weyrling's word over a Weyrleader's without provoking greater problems. Telgar and Ista had gritted through the insults, but for over a decade, their leaders had politely escaped cooperating with Fort. J'vrex's continuous, demanding antagonism towards them and their protective countermeasures against him fueled the longstanding feud.

Still measuring each other with unwavering stares, J'vrex's grin became increasingly feral, and N'thal felt something akin to hatred bubble up within him. N'thal didn't consider himself aggressive by nature, but something about J'vrex unsettled him. The fingers on his left hand twitched for his belt knife, a knife his own Weyrleader had insisted he leave behind at Benden. J'vrex's demeanor stirred some innate, untapped inclination to violence within him, as if he needed to fight for survival. N'thal's instincts warned that J'vrex tested him; his intuition told him the man would knee you in the balls and then step on your face, that he'd feign weakness just to plunge a crippling knife between your already bruised ribs. J'vrex won because no stakes were too high. N'thal recalled again Bl'mol's counsel urging patience and restraint in the face of J'vrex's taunts. Understanding that somehow J'vrex triggered his instinct to fight, he also understood how an adolescent of might act against J'vrex with an outburst of violent insubordination. The realization snapped the spell.

N'thal watched J'vrex and waited, felt Qualth bolster his resolve. J'vrex belittled others to feel important, but this mean and meager man could not humble N'thal unless he allowed it, and he would not. He was not in danger unless he acted first. He recounted the facts to himself, although they thundered through his mind under J'vrex's challenging gaze. Provocation didn't require reaction. Although he felt offended for Bl'mol and Eloria, he would not be goaded into violence; their honor was not his to defend today. J'vrex's entire tirade would have amused Bl'mol, and 'Great Dragonslut of the East' was a new sobriquet that would amuse Eloria. Eloria was nearly as infamous for her philandering conquests and indiscrete liaisons as J'vrex was for his paranoiac tirades and alleged assaults; she cared about as much for her reputation as J'vrex did his. These thoughts calmed him.

N'thal almost regretted agreeing to Bl'mol's task; he needed to exercise caution at this Weyr, and he wondered at Bl'mol's assessment of his character and disposition as the best suited to the investigation. J'vrex's barb about spying was closer to the truth than he hoped the other man realized. While suspecting J'vrex lacked the courage to attack a man of his size and strength, N'thal also lacked interest in testing the strength of his assumption. In a fair fight with an honorable man, N'thal felt assured of victory, but he knew J'vrex was neither fair-minded nor honorable. The man only cared about winning. Only when J'vrex narrowed his eyes and looked away did N'thal dare speak. Unsure of a win or a feint, he spoke with practiced diplomacy in the partial truths mulled and mustered during their tense showdown. "I agree they're an unusual pair, but I would be honored to learn from your experience and expertise, Weyrleader. Bl'mol believes that offering his services as quickly as possible is in Pern's best interest, so I am here as long as you need my wing. Permission to speak freely?"

J'vrex growled a disparaging sound but waved for N'thal to continue. His validating appeasement of the Weyrleader having worked to some degree, N'thal attempt to win the man over by pulling further from the Duty and Tradition he clung to. "Fort is the first Weyr. It is a symbol to the rest of Pern of the strength of dragonkind. For the Weyrs to remain strong, it is the duty of all dragonmen everywhere to support Fort right here, right now in this moment. Mourn and grieve, for all the Weyrs of Pern stand behind Fort. I and my wing are available as support. Igen and the High Reaches send wings soon enough. We will abide by the rules and laws of your Weyr."

"Eh, take a seat, N'thal of Benden. You're welcome enough, though you're no harper. Faranth knows I won't reject a gift, especially a wingleader of your renown," begrudged J'vrex. The Weyrleader sucked on his teeth in distaste, but otherwise appeared mollified and thoughtful. Amidst whispers and murmurs, shuffling and shifting, the other dragonmen nodded their approval. That had not been a feint, then.

Now certain he wouldn't take a knife to the stomach, N'thal strode down the length of the council table, plucking off his gloves one by one. When he reached an empty chair, he tossed his gloves in front of it and seated himself. The chair creaked beneath him, and his nearest neighbor eyeballed him. N'thal nodded to the man.

"Where were we, P'may?" J'vrex asked, looking to his right. N'thal recalled the name as that of Fort's deputy Weyrleader.

"Disciplining Miralise."

N'thal sat up at the mention of the queen rider and saw J'vrex shaking with rage; Bl'mol and Eloria had mentioned Miralise as the tragedy's central witness. They had privately charged him with gathering more information, either from Miralise herself or from the other queen riders. The death of a Weyrwoman during a Threadfall rescue had shaken Eloria's faith in the practice of ambulance teams. Pern's Weyrwomen demanded answers. Eloria trusted him, as Bl'mol's deputy, to find them. Bl'mol, however, had asked for other information in a secondary but covert investigation. It was an investigation wrapped in an investigation wrapped in an otherwise benign offering of help in troubled times. J'vrex had let a tunnelsnake into his midst. N'thal would have to navigate the man's traps, certain he would attempt further provocation.

J'vrex stopped shaking and all but exploded, exclaiming, "When she's finally written a proper report, I want her gone. That dimglow's incompetence is why Belia is dead and I'm down two fighting pairs. I will not deal with her insubordination anymore! We can send her to Ista. They only have two queens. I'm sure the bronze riders there will worship the fat slut, fighting to keep her belly and her dragon's belly swollen! Keeping her on the ground would be best!"

Most of the bronze riders leaped up at J'vrex's inflammatory comments. The shouting he'd overheard from the corridor resumed. As a neutral third party indifferent to Miralise and her queen beyond the task given him by Benden's Weyrleaders, N'thal remained seated and crossed his heavily muscled arms over his chest. None of the men seemed attached to Miralise, but they did seem attached to the fantasy of first flight. This wasn't unusual given more seasoned queens and riders tended to have favorites among the bronzes. This undisciplined ruckus was ridiculous, though. He rubbed at his ears and grimaced. This didn't happen at Benden. Bl'mol neither encouraged nor allowed it.

Somehow feeling obligated to end the bickering, N'thal commented in his most stentorian voice, "I propose a compromise. You can ground her until she completes rigorous retraining. Then, if she fails, send her to another Weyr."

This silenced the arguing bronze riders, but J'vrex's leathery face reddened again under his weathered tan. P'may interjected before J'vrex could snarl at the Benden wingleader. "Tadrine's unsalted tubers have more personality than Miralise. She's a wet blanket. Belia always said she was barely more capable than an imbecile and lazy as a herdbeast. J'vrex is right to call her insubordinate. Typical of the prettier hold girls who Impress a queen. Good in a flight, useless as a weyrwoman. You know how it is."

N'thal didn't actually, but he smiled politely at J'vrex's deputy. While once women had ridden greens, they no longer did so; Bl'mol had told him that not every sensitive woman had the ideal temperament for riding gold. If Fort favored alluring looks over correct character in their queen candidates, this could contribute to their many problems. Benden only allowed particular girls on the sands and drilled exemplary discipline into the women who Impressed. Benden's weyrwomen earned and commanded respect throughout Pern. Neither Eloria nor Bl'mol allowed blatant character assassination of their queen riders. In fact, maligning or verbally abusing one of them would have met the offending party latrine or firestone duty. N'thal found himself uninspired by the attitudes at Fort. What, by the Egg, had been going on at this Weyr? Bl'mol might mistake him for a drunk and fanciful harper if he relayed half of this.

"He can see how useless she is soon enough. I've had Nobrath ask Verenth to ask her in. She'll be here in a moment with another attempted report," J'vrex growled.

Some of the men made comments about Miralise and her queen; they were quickly shot down as meritless by either P'may or J'vrex. N'thal's seat allowed an unobstructed view of the entrance, so he was one of the first to catch sight of the young queenrider. A pretty woman with coppery blond curls and impeccably erect posture strode into the council chamber and made her way to the head of the table. As he watched the sway of her slender waist, broad hips, and shapely buttocks in the tight riding leathers, he understood the men's vehement antagonism towards J'vrex's wish to send her to Ista. He discreetly surveyed their faces, noting the openly covetous ogling with disgust. These men lacked discipline.

 _Almost all the men want her. Verenth will rise sooner than they expect._ Qualth commented. _Ask Lytanth's rider. She worries._

J'vrex wouldn't even look at the young woman as she bowed and murmured his name.

"Don't forget your knots next time, gold rider. Hand me the report," P'may stated.

Miralise nodded and handed him a sheaf of paper. Apprehension furrowed her refined eyebrows; she mashed her full lips into a colorless line. To N'thal's mind, the words 'insubordinate' and 'lazy' seemed misapplied, but N'thal knew P'may's type: the bootlicking stickler for protocol. To N'thal, the words best describing Miralise were 'submissive' and 'fearful'. Those were nearly as bad of qualities as 'insubordinate' or 'lazy' in a queen's rider, but N'thal's stomach still knotted with compassion for a young woman whose personality seemed so mismatched to the people around her.

"Your handwriting is neat and legible," commented the deputy Weyrleader.

"Thank you, wingleader," she responded in a soft, dreamy alto. The woman's pleasant voice probably didn't hurt her esteem with the Weyr's bronze riders, N'thal thought.

P'may shook his head and gave her a stern look. "Don't thank me yet, child. I don't think the content of this draft will do. J'vrex?"

J'vrex snatched the paper from P'may's hand and read over it, his lips silently twitching and snarling through the words. N'thal watched Miralise step away from the Weyrleader, back towards the wall, one hand absently rubbing at her collarbones, her arm resting over her voluminous bosom. She looked sideways at J'vrex as if expecting harm. Were submissive and frightened traits she had learned? N'thal couldn't imagine a shy person would have a better time interacting with J'vrex than the fabled reactive weyrlings from Telgar and Ista had. His own mercurial master during his apprenticeship had been given to nastiness; daily subjection to the man's erratic disposition had broken more than one apprentice into a timorous mess, and the more tr they'd gotten, the more they received abuse. Had this happened to Miralise? N'thal looked back at J'vrex. The man was shaking with a rage all too like the old smith master's, perhaps worse.

The storm broke with another tirade.

"You're grounded from active duty until you go through training again and make your way through it without incident!" J'vrex shouted at last as he stood up, balling the offending report and rounding on her. She flinched under his gaze, and he threw the crumpled paper at her face. She batted it down with surprisingly quick reflexes and backed up against the wall. He stood to his full height and although he didn't dare touch a queen's rider, he got right in her face. Every bit the gross martinet, strings of spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled at her. "Learn to write a good report and accept blame! If you keep mucking this up, I'm sending you to Ista, where your pale ass can burn to a crisp like you let happen to Belia, you useless idiot! Think on this! If you hadn't killed her, we wouldn't be here! Are you really that stupid? Do better!"

Miralise sobbed into her hands and bolted out of the council chamber.

J'vrex followed, shouting "stupid dragonslut" and a slew of other increasingly incomprehensible insults and obscenities after her. No one left their seat, but they could hear his screaming tirade echoing down the corridor, along with her sobbing pleas to allow her to write another draft for him. N'thal found the experience disturbing; he had never witnessed anything like it. Never had he heard a woman publicly castigated in that way after she'd started crying. The argument continued for some time until a dragon roared from the Weyr bowl. At last, silence resounded in the corridor. No one in the council chamber spoke although the men shifted uncomfortably in their chairs.

J'vrex sauntered in wearing an eerie, serene smile. N'thal eyed him in disbelief.

The Weyrleader made an exaggerated show of taking his seat and surveying his bronze riders. He beamed at them and chuckled low, making a magnanimous gesture of triumph with one hand. "Well, I've dealt with the fardling idiot again. She's agreed to write up the correct information. Third time's the charm, they say. Now, while we know Jandra's queen will rise next, I think it best that Dita retrain Miralise. She's the only one who can get any sense through the girl's thick skull. Maybe we can keep her here until her queen's first clutch. After that, well! Teveth clutched Verenth, didn't she? New weyrwoman would do us all good. Poaching a pretty, biddable girl from Ista might be what's needed."

N'thal glanced at the assembled men. No one said anything; no one did anything. He found himself shocked at their indifference to the Weyrleader's bizarre change in demeanor from argumentative to affable. The old master smith who'd taught him had always remained angry after his episodes of abuse and required time to himself. N'thal could not comprehend J'vrex's joviality so soon after abusing Miralise. How could a man verbally abuse someone, then act like nothing had happened, and no one seem disturbed? The morale of this Weyr was as distorted as its Weyrleader's mercurial moods.

"Questions? Concerns?" P'may asked.

Although had several questions and felt many concerns, N'thal said nothing and watched J'vrex continue smiling at them. N'thal maintained an emotionless expression, but his stomach knotted with apprehension and distaste. There was no subtlety to the wrongness in the Weyrleader or the Weyr. Qualth echoed his appraisal and emotions. The bronze's validation usually conferred renewed confidence in well-honed instincts, but here and now, the affirmation doubled his growing uneasiness.

When no one had spoken for several minutes, J'vrex gave a bark of laughter and stood. He slapped the tabletop. "Nothing? Meeting adjourned."

The Weyrleader hefted a stack of records under one arm, hitched the thumb of his free hand through a belt loop, and leisurely strolled out of council while whistling the chorus of the Duty Song off pitch. N'thal looked around at the listless dragonmen, realizing then that their inaction in the face of immorality stemmed from acclimation to the Weyrleader's shocking behavior. Repeat exposure to amorality normalized it.

P'may cleared his throat and stood to address them. "J'vrex believes our meeting has ended with a suitable punishment for Miralise's incompetence. You know your assignments for the month. As duty officer, remember that assignments come through me. Council in a sevenday to review Miralise's progress."

P'may strode out, followed by most of the bronze riders. N'thal stood and grabbed his gloves, tucking them into his belt.

"N'thal?" a man asked with a hand held out in greeting. "I'm T'bril, a wingleader here."

N'thal glanced down at the other bronze rider and clasped his hand, exchanging a firm shake and appreciating the egalitarian informality of the man's greeting. He gestured with his thumb towards the head of the table. "This happen often around here?"

T'bril tilted his head, lips pursed with wry amusement. "It's not usually this bad, but this is fairly normal?"

"Normal?" N'thal asked, incredulous.

"Normal for Fort, yes. Normal for another Weyr, though…" T'bril trailed off, shrugging.

"This doesn't happen at Benden."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't, but the truth is…? Belia and J'vrex were always hard on poor Mira. She's a sweet kid, nowhere near as stupid as people think. Good, ethical, caring. Better with numbers and figures than most smith apprentices. Impeccable memory for details. Impeccable memory for visuals for between, according to the Weyrlingmaster. Somehow not what they were hoping for in a junior weyrwoman, and Belia beat the confidence out of the girl. J'vrex thought Belia's words were truth, and P'may's a brow nosing tool who's never disagreed with J'vrex in his life," T'bril grinned wryly as he walked to the head of the table and picked up Miralise's crumpled report. He passed it from hand to hand and gave N'thal a conspiratorial look. He spoke with mock hushed tones, "I'd bet my whole autumn stipend on this report being better than P'may and J'vrex say it is. Check for yourself. Catch."

N'thal caught the ball of paper and wondered what he'd gotten himself into, finding himself uneasy with T'bril's overfamiliar chattiness. He smoothed Miralise's report against the table. "I wouldn't bet against you."

T'bril let out a sharp laugh and said, "Probably for the best! Dita is my weyrmate, by the way. She told me to help you out and show you around."

 _You can trust them._ Qualth reassured him. The bronze's endorsement eased his apprehension.

"Would you and your weyrmate care for lunch?" N'thal casually asked as he skimmed the report, understanding the pair sought his confidences. He traced the lines of writing, seeing both formatting and fastidious handwriting as more exemplary than P'may's diplomatic 'neat and legible' allowed. 'Neat and legible' was something he'd validate an apprentice or young weyrling with while teaching him to write. The young woman he'd seen was neither, but she was either a natural or well trained—perhaps both? Archivists practiced for Turns for script like this. He reviewed the report again, and although more cautious of the details in this reading, he couldn't deduce the faults found by P'may or J'vrex. Assuming negligence in his perusal, he cautiously read it a third time. He knew his confusion too readable when he sought T'bril's gaze and saw the man's uneven, sardonic grin. N'thal poked the crinkled page in front of him. "This incident report is formatted and worded correctly. The words tell the incident as the other Weyrs know it, verified by queen dragons. What exactly is wrong with it?"

"If it's like the last one, then I'm betting it just doesn't align with what J'vrex and P'may want to believe the facts are," T'bril said, grimacing, and shrugged his shoulders as if to emphasize the futility of questioning the Weyrleader's unreasonableness. He took the paper in his hands and read over it. Finishing it, his tired gray eyes met N'thal's questioning look. "For all of J'vrex's insistence that Miralise is insubordinate, I don't know that Miralise could tell a lie. I know Dita had Lytanth ask Verenth for confirmation, but J'vrex wants someone to pay for Belia's death. As you know, Margatath and Teveth verified as well, but J'vrex is deluded in his grief, and Miralise has been their whipping boy—well, girl—since she graduated the weyrlings. I'll hold onto this report and give it to Dita at lunch. Dita's invited you to eat with us in her weyr. Follow me. I have some more to tell you while we wait on the meal."

N'thal nodded and matched his stride to the shorter man's. He had little knowledge of Fort's layout, but he knew enough of its Weyrleaders' Complex to feel confusion at heading further into the cavern system rather than out to the ledges. With Qualth urging trust in his guide, N'thal said nothing and let T'bril narrate their detour.

"Belia and J'vrex kept separate weyrs but they never slept apart. Their weyrs are full of obscene amounts of shit. They liked acquiring things. Belia liked receiving clothes and jewelry. If you needed something from Belia, you made sure to bring her silver and sapphires," commented T'bril as they walked toward the vacant Weyrwoman's weyr. His face contorted in disgust. He stopped and then gestured from the Weyrwoman's weyr to the Weyrleader's weyr. "Their weyrs are like the legends of some old Lord of Telgar from the Fourth Pass, polishing a room full of gold and silver and gems in the inner hold until a pile of junk collapsed and crushed him. Hers, especially! You know the song where the Lord keeps getting more and more junk until he dies? Really, when she started getting fat, we thought Belia would die the same way. Early on she made a show of favoring bronze riders who gave her jewelry. She kept all of it, and then kept getting more of it. Come on before J'vrex jumps out at us."

This gossip proved interesting, but N'thal silently questioned the pertinence. T'bril tugged on his arm, and they walked away from the leadership weyrs. N'thal looked down at the other man, noting his raised eyebrows. Since the Fortian seemed to expect a question, N'thal asked him, "J'vrex gave her the most?"

"J'vrex found her on Search, in Ruatha. She became the senior Weyrwoman of Fort twenty-two Turns ago when Nenmiath rose before Livvy's Margatath."

N'thal nodded, stowing that information away for later use, and commented, "Qualth said that Verenth will rise sooner than expected."

"The path and some of the steps to the junior weyrs are a bit ragged, so watch your step. But, to answer, yes, Dita thinks so."

"So ... Livvy, Jandra, or Miralise will become the next Weyrwoman."

"Dita and Livvy don't want to be Weyrwoman, and I don't know what Jandra wants, although Belia groomed her to take over. Teveth is due to rise at Turn's End, Margatath a few months after that. We've been fortunate not to have two queens on the sands at the same time, if you've heard any of the troubles they've had with the queens squabbling in the High Reaches. Anyway, Miralise's queen hatched about two and a half Turns ago."

"Lytanth is on the sands now and won't rise again for some time. As for Verenth, J'vrex won't expect her to rise before she's three," interjected Dita as she met them at her dragon's empty ledge. T'bril and Dita pecked a quick greeting kiss. T'bril passed her the crinkled report, and Dita winked at N'thal as she smoothed the paper. "Ponth kept me informed of your topic of conversation. Useful talent to have."

N'thal tilted his head in confusion, and then rocked back on his boot heels as comprehension dawned. "Oh, you hear all dragons."

"Useful talent," Dita reasserted with a grin so mischievous it led N'thal to assume the statement was a frequent joke. She gestured T'bril and N'thal into her weyr. They followed her past her queen's empty couch toward a plain woolen dividing curtain. "Weyrbred gals don't usually Impress. Lytanth floundered over to me as soon as she split her shell, and frankly, I don't remember a time when I couldn't hear dragons. Anyway, I had lunch brought up to the weyr. Tadrine put some sort of salted fish and cream soup on the menu today, so I hope you've got a hankering for seafood."

"I didn't eat before I left Benden."

Dita favored N'thal with a winning smile as she plucked at the gray curtain. "Good, then you won't mind the taste. It's not too bad, though. Usually."

"She's being generous. Tadrine's menus are unimaginative," T'bril said as he held aside the curtain. Dita went in first, and N'thal ducked into the inner weyr.

The weyr was spacious despite being smaller than Benden's queen weyrs. Dita had converted one portion of the inner weyr into a sitting room. Two curtains matching the divide between inner and outer weyr lined other parts of the room. T'bril ushered N'thal to a table with three place settings while Dita filed the report in a desk beside a narrow wall couch covered in fancily embroidered cushions. One of the gray curtains hid the sleeping area, then, with the other presumably hiding the bath and necessary. After T'bril seated Dita and moved to what N'thal assumed was his usual spot, N'thal sat down at the additional setting with a murmured 'thank you' to his hosts. They laughed and waved off the thanks, tucking into their meal and gesturing N'thal do the same. The soup proved better than advertised, as did the lightly seasoned bread and the fresh fruits.

"So, how many riders in your wing?" asked Dita as she dropped her spoon into the empty stoneware bowl. It clattered noisily.

N'thal set aside his own spoon, careful to avoid the sound she'd made. He shifted, the chair creaked beneath his bulk, before he responded. "Forty two. We have a lot of reserve greens at Benden. Not sure what the fighting complement is like at Fort."

T'bril nodded slowly in thought. "Fort isn't anywhere near full capacity, and the dragons aren't well. You said Igen and the High Reaches were sending wings as well?"

N'thal nodded. "If needed."

"They'll be needed until J'vrex is replaced," Dita said sharply.

N'thal looked from one weyrmate to the other, noting T'bril's narrowed eyes. He hid his confusion at the man's irritation at Dita's criticisms. He'd been critical of the Weyrleader not half an hour ago, so why unhappy with her critique? After a moment, it dawned on him that T'bril's expression was annoyance at the situation rather than at his weyrmate. He leaned against the chair back; it creaked. He leaned back and forth without looking away from the pair, and though the chair creaked again, it seemed sturdy. His height and muscular bulk left him wary of older furniture, though it was unlikely in a Pass that the Weyrs would receive much new from the carpenters. He said nothing and waited for T'bril or Dita to speak.

T'bril sighed and set down his own spoon. "Can we replace Tadrine, too? We've had the same soup for a fortnight. I'm sick of it."

"I thought it was good," said N'thal, surprised.

"It would be good if we had it less often," Dita appeased them both with a gentle laugh, although she fixed T'bril with a look. "J'vrex is a more immediate concern, but when a queen flies, we can fix both situations. I'm counting on that."

"Hear, hear!" T'bril exclaimed, rapping two knuckles against the tabletop. "Tadrine can't maintain a healthy menu, and J'vrex can't lead a Fall without a death or catastrophic injury."

"Catastrophic injury?"

"Last time Dita checked, Fort's outright lost the most dragon pairs, either to death or disability."

"Is that true?" N'thal asked, looking to the weyrwoman.

Dita wiped her mouth with her napkin. "The riders take too many chances. Too much is asked of them, and they're not..."

"Some of the wings aren't trained well for the job that's asked of them," interrupted T'bril.

Dita grimaced. "Belia always feigned favorites with the wingleaders, and J'vrex punished anyone she seemed to like. It wasn't so bad in the Interval, with the Spring Games. It was their little game within a game. But Threadfall isn't Spring Games, and Belia didn't seem to care what happened so long as she was getting attention, and J'vrex was fighting for it."

"Has he always been volatile?" N'thal asked. He absently pulled his napkin through the loop of his thumb and pointer.

Dita nodded. "Belia always encouraged him to be harsh with the riders. Told him it was how a real man led. And, she..."

T'bril finished the sentence when she trailed off. "...she wasn't exactly kind to her weyrwomen."

This was an old complaint, then, decided N'thal.

Dita wrinkled her nose as she brushed her hands off over her empty bowl. "She liked Jandra best, but she didn't like her much at all. She hated Miralise the most."

"Why'd she hate Miralise?" N'thal asked.

Dita laughed sharply. "Mira's pretty and sweet."

"She's sexy," commented T'bril.

Dita playfully threw her napkin at her weyrmate. "The bronze riders have been waiting a long time for Verenth to mature."

T'bril held up his hands. "I don't plan on letting Ponth win."

"I trust you with her more than I trust most of the other bronze riders with her," Dita stated darkly.

"I noticed the way they looked at her," commented N'thal.

"She took all of the attention off of Belia," Dita said with a shrug. "By all accounts, Belia was beautiful when she came from Ruatha, although her looks had been in decline for, well, a while. She's the old Lord's daughter. There's a certain air of importance when a Ruathan girl Impresses a queen. Anyway, Belia played the bronze riders off each other for a long time even though she only wanted J'vrex. She liked to toy with them, and she loved watching J'vrex put them down. It just got worse over time."

N'thal raised his eyebrows in surprise.

T'bril commented, "No, it's not normal behavior for a healthy Weyr. Fort is not a healthy Weyr."

"Let me finish the story, love," said Dita with a wry smile.

"Continue!"

"Well, the bronze riders really started noticing Miralise when she Impressed. She doesn't keep company with them, by the way. She feels uncomfortable around them, not that I blame her. Oh! And keep in mind J'vrex and Belia always told her she was fat and ugly. Which, she's not. She's just ..." Dita mimed having large breasts and an hourglass figure.

"She's just got a very nice body, and all the men want a go at her," interjected T'bril, sticking his tongue out at Dita.

Dita stuck her tongue back out at T'bril. "Do the other bronze riders really talk about her like that?"

T'bril snorted. "What's said is much worse than that. Even I cringe at some of the stuff I've heard."

"What do they say?" Dita demanded.

T'bril held up his hands. "I don't want to say."

"T'bril ..."

"They just think she'll be a good lay. I'm not going to say some of the stuff I've heard. It's embarrassing, really."

"You are so holdbred!" Dita stuck her tongue out at her weyrmate again.

N'thal cleared his throat. "Most of the bronze riders seemed very intent when she walked in."

"Verenth will rise soon. I just don't know how soon," Dita stated. She grimaced and sighed before continuing. "I want her flight open to other Weyrs. I just don't trust most of Fort's bronze riders with Miralise's best interest. Most seem to assume she's as stupid as P'may and J'vrex say. They think she's dumb and easy, but somehow also think that she's playing Belia's old games. Mira isn't stupid, but she also doesn't play games with people. She can't always recognize malice, and that makes her an easy target."

T'bril cleared his throat.

N'thal looked from Dita to T'bril.

T'bril shrugged. "There you have it, N'thal."

N'thal scratched at his neck. "Do you think Verenth will rise before the other queens?"

Dita gave him a stern look and then nodded. "I think she'll rise before Turnover."

N'thal considered Dita with equally stern regard as he recognized her protectiveness of the younger weyrwoman. His mind generated numerous questions. Most would have to wait, so he asked the safest, "What does your queen think?"

"Lytanth won't comment on it."

"How young is Miralise, anyway?"

"She turned twenty three over the summer."

"Hmm," intoned N'thal, folding his hands over his right knee. "What's her story from before Impression?"

Dita sat back and tapped a finger against her chin in thought. "Eldest child of Hold Gar's holder. She fostered at Southern Boll with the Lord Holder's sisters and at some point caught his attention. There was a long courtship for a potential marriage, which was called off after we Searched her."

"No attachments now?"

Her expression turning disapproving at his question, Dita responded with a firm "No."

"Did Belia prepare her for her queen's flight?"

Dita lifted her chin and wrinkled her nose. "Belia left that to Livvy and me."

"Is she prepared enough to be Fort's Weyrwoman?"

Dita laughed and shook her head. "Belia hated having her in the records room, even though Mira's strengths are in archives and bookkeeping. She learned that quite well from her parents and from Boll's steward. Any other training that needed to be done was also left to Livvy and me."

N'thal let out a whooshing breath, realizing how unprepared he was for the depths of Fort's undisciplined climate. "Eloria told me that I might find the leadership lacking here. I didn't expect it to be as bad as it was."

"Despite knowing what J'vrex is like?" T'bril sounded incredulous.

His thoughts uneasy under the scrutiny, N'thal shifted his weight and said, "Knowing that didn't clue me into the actual problem. Maybe it should have."

"Look at the blue that crashed into Nenmiath. He was in J'vrex's wing," Dita said matter-of-factly. This apparent non sequitur perplexed N'thal, but he sat back and observed the petite woman, waiting for her to elucidate him. She shook her head and crinkled her button nose in frustration. "Cograth's inexperience led to Belia's death. M'jurn had just turned sixteen, but he'd been with the weyrlings for Turns. That dead blue pair are the direct reason for Belia's death, as you likely read in that report." She jerked her thumb in the direction of her desk. "Lytanth and I interrogated Verenth under J'vrex's orders. Dragons will not lie, and Verenth didn't think she could have held onto Yadraith. J'vrex never should have had Cograth clearing a path for the queens. Too young, too green, trying to be a hero."

N'thal nodded slowly at what Dita implied but would not outright say. J'vrex's incompetence had inadvertently condemned Belia to a horrific death. The three riders sat in silence, their heads bowed for lives lost by poor leadership. N'thal contemplated how to reveal this to Bl'mol and Eloria without compromising Fort's stability. If Dita's rationale proved correct, then every Weyrwoman would blame J'vrex for Belia's death. He wondered if that accounted for J'vrex wrongly blaming Miralise. Miralise would receive strong censure from Weyrwomen with a continent-wide demand for better training for young weyrwoman but revealing J'vrex's culpability in the tragedy would result in Fort Weyr itself receiving sanctions. The Weyrwomen would see his retention as Weyrleader as the Weyr affirming practices leading to a queen's death, and they would make an example out of both J'vrex and Fort Weyr.

"I expect you'll report this…stuff…to Eloria and Bl'mol," Dita said, "but please don't state plainly what's wrong while J'vrex remains Weyrleader."

N'thal looked at the little weyrwoman, his head tilting and brow quizzical as he considered the strength of her gift. He had never met someone with her talent and reading about it didn't prepare one for understanding it.

"I know things, sometimes," she told him, her half smile chagrined. "It's not as extensive as you're probably thinking. While you're at Fort, be careful what thoughts echo into Qualth's mind. That's sometimes the essence of where the dragons' rumors begin. Remind your Qualth to keep quiet. I overheard the echo of your thoughts in his mind. If you absolutely must, conduct your investigations when he's sleeping. Miralise and I will have your weyr ready for you in six days. I've informed J'vrex that I've taken information down about your wingriders' needs at this lunch, and that I'm dispatching Miralise to furnish their weyrs when the time comes, as part of her retraining. Clear skies on your journey back to Benden. I've called Qualth to my ledge. I should tend Miralise. You will meet her when you return. She'll be your liaison."

N'thal noted his dismissal and gave his thanks for their hospitality. He bowed to them and turned, hearing the clinks of dishes and cutlery settling onto a tray as he strode away and brushed aside the privacy curtain. His thoughts churned with possibilities as he mulled what had happened and been said. As he settled into Qualth's withers, he at last recognized a hint at matchmaking in Dita's words. Secure in the straps, he told Qualth to take them aloft. Benden was his home; he wanted no part in Fort's affairs beyond old Bl'mol's assignment. He had no interest in training up a Weyrwoman to lead the wherry nest that was Fort Weyr. Dita could look elsewhere for someone to coddle Miralise. Qualth made no comment on his rider's distress, only mentioning they'd achieved optimum altitude and requesting a visual to their destination. They went _between_.

Three heartbeats later they emerged above Benden's welcoming double crater, Qualth gliding on gentle air currents as N'thal surveyed the relaxing sights of the sun glinting off the peak and twinkling on the rippling lake far below. N'thal overheard Qualth's half of the exchange with the watch dragon and then asked him to notify the Weyrleaders of his return. As he contacted Olkath, the bronze altered course and descended in a lazy spiral.

 _The Weyrleader says come to his weyr, but the Weyrwoman is not to be disturbed_ , Qualth relayed. Leaving unstated why Eloria requested privacy, he banked towards the Weyrleader's ledge. As they approached the leadership weyrs, N'thal saw Luvatath blocking longways the Weyrwoman's ledge in that traditional, tacit signal Eloria used in the least discreet ways. Good of Bl'mol to allow her to indulge her appetites, he thought as J'vrex's gross criticisms of the Weyrwoman repeated in his mind. N'thal didn't think he could abide her profligate indiscretions if Qualth ever claimed Luvatath. As for the Weyrleader's ledge, Olkath was absent. Qualth landed in the other dragon's spot and supplied wistfully, _He suns on the rim today. I'd like to nap by the Starstones_.

 _Hint taken, big guy_ , N'thal said, laughing as he jumped down. Qualth craned his neck to peer back, and N'thal gave the bronze's foreleg an affectionate slap. The reassured bronze launched himself skyward, and N'thal admired the powerful display with childlike awe. As a fatherless bastard in the Igen Smith Hall, he had dreamed of designing flight contraptions instead of hoping for Search. Search had brought him to Qualth, though, and despite a partnership spanning decades, he still felt breathless witnessing the beast's capabilities. The magnificence of dragons was more brilliant than the imagined flight machines of his adolescence. With Qualth a distant speck above, N'thal turned and trudged the tunnel to Bl'mol's weyr.

He called out a loud greeting as he approached the inner weyr; Bl'mol shouted back a welcome. N'thal ducked under the curtain and was greeted by Bl'mol's kind smile. Bl'mol was a man of middling height with completely white curly hair, the hair the most visible mark of his age. Though in his sixties, his brown face almost resisted lines and wrinkles except around his eyes, and his frame retained strength and vitality that he credited to a lifetime of association with dragons. In his hands, he held out N'thal's belt knife.

"I felt naked without it," N'thal commented as he grabbed the knife by the hilt and sheathed it. Although N'thal attempted to appear casual and dispassionate, something in Bl'mol's patient expression and slow gesture towards the desk stirred his earlier irritation. He quipped, "I question the wisdom of sending me on this foolish mission. I was close to strangling J'vrex in that meeting, and if I'd had my knife..."

At his critical tone, Bl'mol glanced sideways and leveled him with a perceptive look before shrugging and sitting down at the desk. He flipped open a glow basket and uncapped an inkwell. "If you'd had your knife, we'd be having an entirely different conversation. N'thal, you laughed when I asked for your knife this morning, and now you question my judgment in even sending you there? Sit down, wingleader. If your mission bothers you, we must talk, because I only trust you with something this delicate."

Realization that the old man was concerned but saddened induced strong feelings of remorse. Bl'mol's censure he could take with dignity, but his compassion he found heavier. The mixed emotions he'd stymied at Fort returned, and he swallowed hard to ease the painful tightening of his throat. Too overcome to speak, he seated himself and watched Bl'mol dip pen into the ink.

"I'm taking notes as needed, so talk," Bl'mol stated, looking at him with paternal concern.

N'thal cleared his throat twice before asking, "Who's Eloria having for lunch?"

Bl'mol chortled, "My new wingsecond. Any other idle social questions?"

Raising his eyebrows, N'thal asked, "Bit young for her, don't you think?"

At the hint of criticism toward Eloria's behavior, Bl'mol's expression turned disapproving. "Now, tell me about their council."

"Well, J'vrex called Eloria 'the Great Dragonslut of the East'," N'thal drawled, agitated enough by his conflicted emotions to push the topic of the Weyrwoman's philandering.

To N'thal's surprise, Bl'mol spluttered with laughter so uproarious he ended up setting aside his pen to wipe away tears. "By shards and shells, I don't think J'vrex ever outgrew weyrlinghood insults. No wonder he gets into fights with weyrlings! Eloria would love that one, so please tell me that wasn't what nearly provoked you to throttle the fool."

"He claimed you to be sexually impotent," N'thal responded with a wry grin, the resurgence of the day's stressful and heightened emotions giving way to amusement.

Bl'mol chortled, still wiping at his eyes as he said, "Not an issue for this old dragonman, I assure you. Thanks for your concern, but not good reason to want to attack him."

N'thal shrugged and said, "He sarcastically thanked Benden for doing our duty, then scoffed at Ista and Telgar for not knowing theirs."

Bl'mol snorted, saying, "He's still holding that old grudge. Imagine a grown man feeling so threatened as to provoke a weyrling into drawing a knife."

"After interacting with him, I can see why people might attack him, especially a weyrling."

"He provokes them. I told you that," Bl'mol shrugged, dismissive.

N'thal shifted and sighed, feeling uncomfortable with the memory. "Bl'mol, it wasn't his words. It was more his posture and the way he looks you in the eye."

His brow furrowing with concern, Bl'mol asked, "What do you mean?"

"For a moment, I felt like I had to fight to live."

Bl'mol nodded slowly. "You're the second man I've heard something like that before."

"What's worse is I think he likes his riders fighting each other."

Frowning, the Weyrleader asked, "What makes you say that?"

"It's hard to explain," N'thal said, revulsion causing him to mashing his lips together.

Bl'mol looked at him hard with paternal concern—his sharp eyes settling on and noting the miserable lines of his mouth—and asked, "You have a thought for why he does it, don't you?"

"Yes," N'thal confirmed, toneless. The shrewd Weyrleader knew his mind almost as well as he did.

"And…?" Bl'mol asked, expectant.

N'thal grimaced at the distasteful concept he wanted to leave unstated. Only when Bl'mol raised an eyebrow at him did he say, "J'vrex seeks to divide and conquer."

Bl'mol nodded. "It works well enough for consolidating power as Weyrleader in an Interval."

"But, it's bad for a Weyr during a Pass."

"It is, but why do you say so?" Bl'mol prompted, nodding again.

Disgust tightening his throat, N'thal grunted the words, "Thread's enough of an enemy."

"Dragonmen don't need enemies at home when Threads spin enough devastation everywhere," Bl'mol said, returning to the hide in front of him. He dipped his pen in ink and began scrawling notes.

N'thal sat in silence, listening to the pen scratch as his Weyrleader wrote. When Bl'mol finally set it aside, N'thal said, "I have a question about the weyrlings that J'vrex attacked. I wasn't your deputy then, so I heard different versions of the story. I heard one version that was shocking. So, can you tell me, did Belia really send that Telgar weyrling home with a note demanding repayment in clean wool?"

"Only clean wool of the highest quality," corrected Bl'mol, looking disgusted. "If Belia asked for something, it was always stated that it had to be of the highest quality. What an insult! Terethea keeps the note available at a moment's notice in Telgar's records. She'll show it to you if Eloria asks."

"Please tell me why you've sent me on this fool's errand, Bl'mol."

Bl'mol sighed as he met N'thal's pleading gaze. "I told you already. I can only trust you with this. Weyrwoman Dita didn't want it known to you before the council, but she asked for interference from the other Weyrs."

"Dita did? Why? Is that why you sent me to her weyr before the council?"

"She's our contact within Fort, yes."

"Why did is she ask for interference?"

"Think back on the ideas we tossed back and forth on Weyrleadership. You know enough of J'vrex's character to know what?"

N'thal found himself perplexed. "He has to feel he's better than everyone else?"

"Close. Dig a little deeper."

N'thal thought back on the morning and nodded slowly. "Ah. He has to win, no matter what."

"J'vrex being the winner at all costs has cost Fort too many dragons."

"T'bril and Dita mentioned their casualty count, which is what you've asked me to investigate."

"Which you can easily do while investigating Eloria's concern."

"And if J'vrex is found at fault?"

"If he remains Weyrleader," Bl'mol stated, pausing to catch N'thal's gaze. N'thal realized the gravity of the situation. They nodded at each other in silent understanding as Bl'mol continued. "Then the other Weyrs will finally sanction him and Fort. It would do Fort well to have another bronze fly whichever queen rises first."

"Do not think to make me Weyrleader of Fort, old man! Benden is my home."

Bl'mol shrugged. "You know I've been training you to take over Benden when I'm no longer capable, so I understand your reluctance. I requested that Igen offer L'nan's wing and High Reaches offer K'ver's."

N'thal gave Bl'mol a puzzled look.

Bl'mol smiled wryly. "I forget you know dragon names better than riders. L'nan and Hoffath of Igen. K'ver and Gilmanth of the High Reaches."

N'thal nodded slowly. "That's Igen's best wing."

"You're the more able wingleader," Bl'mol stated.

N'thal pursed his lips before saying, "I'd heard rumors that L'nan has been entertaining Helyrie when Ch'dagel's been occupied."

"He has certain aspirations," a dulcet alto interjected coolly from behind him.

N'thal jumped up and turned to face the smiling, compact blonde. Eloria waved to Bl'mol and tucked her short, freshly washed hair behind her ears as slipped past N'thal to settle onto the vacated stool. N'thal stepped over to Bl'mol's desk and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he said, "I didn't expect to see you, Eloria. I expected you'd still be occupied and indisposed."

"Well, here I am, feeling quite wonderful," she said, tilting her head and shrugging one shoulder.

"How much does ...?" N'thal motioned from Bl'mol to Eloria.

Eloria's smug, sardonic look did not ease his apprehension. "We told Dita we'd tell you everything after their council meeting. The day after Belia died, Dita called the Weyrwomen to Fort. Ista and Telgar refused the meeting on principal, of course, but the rest of us went. The Weyrwomen want a full investigation into a queen's death during a rescue. After the meeting, Dita approached me alone with her concerns about J'vrex. I took those concerns to Bl'mol. Bl'mol took them to the other Weyrleaders. After everything he's done, J'vrex must go. If that young queen is flown by Nobrath, Fort will find itself under sanctions."

"Verenth will rise before Teveth, then?"

Eloria fixed him with another smug look. "Luvatath was certain of it. I've warned Dita not to tell Jandra or Livvy a thing."

"Why?"

"Livvy will cooperate in any investigation into the safety of queens as ambulances, but she's afraid of J'vrex. Dita thinks she can be persuaded, though."

"And Jandra?"

"Jandra is sympathetic to J'vrex."

"That's unfortunate."

"Yes, but she'll turn against him in the end," Eloria said with a calculating smile that disquieted N'thal.

"I trust your judgments to see these investigations through," Bl'mol urged him. "You've the character and the instincts for the job. The other Weyrleaders agree."

"If I'd had my knife, I might have pulled it on him," N'thal said, laughing and shaking his head. He felt ashamed. "I don't know how you can trust my judgment when—"

Bl'mol interrupted his self-reproach with a slicing gesture, insisting, "You had the wherewithal to avoid acting today. We need a man with that discernment managing J'vrex and this investigation."

"He's suspicious of me."

"I can write a letter stating that Eloria wants you to lead an investigation into Belia's death."

N'thal shook his head. "Won't work. He loathes Eloria."

Eloria sat up, grinning excitedly from N'thal to Bl'mol. "I have the perfect idea! We'll have N'nemm write a note on behalf of Zansy, stating that the Weyrwomen want an investigation into Belia's death. J'vrex always respected Zansy! If Zansy vouches for N'thal, he won't suspect anything."

"Why not have K'ver lead the investigation, then?"

"Doesn't have the right disposition," Bl'mol shrugged. Eloria mimed drinking ale with one hand and made a yapping motion with the other.

"Ah," intoned N'thal, understanding the uselessness of a babbling drunk in the Weyrleaders' schemes. He narrowed his eyes in thought and then clicked his tongue against teeth as a plan formed. "I still don't think Zansy's warm endorsement will do the trick. So, Fort's youngest queen rider?"

"What about her?" asked Eloria.

"What's her name?"

"MIralise?" Eloria supplied, rolling her eyes and slouching over.

"J'vrex blames Miralise," N'thal said, nodding his thanks toward Eloria before continuing, "for Belia's accident."

"The rotten old tunnelsnake!" Eloria exclaimed, sitting up and balling her fists.

"Well, I don't disagree," N'thal grimaced apologetically. He looked down at Bl'mol who had started scribbling away again. Knowing the man was taking notes, N'thal mashed his lips together as he grasped for the right words. "Hmm. How to says this? If you have N'nemm say Zansy and the other Weyrwomen want to investigate Miralise's part in Belia's death, implying that Miralise might be at fault and that any incompetence jeopardizes the usefulness of gold rescue teams, then J'vrex may see me as an ally. He seems to want her out of Fort Weyr. He's already grounded her for retraining and put that training in Dita's hands. With Dita as our contact, this will give us access to Miralise. We could have the senior queens go to Fort for an assessment of her capacities as well."

"Bl'mol has trained you well," Eloria said, eyeing him appreciatively.

"Don't look at me like that, Eloria," N'thal warned. N'thal had fended off her advances for several Turns, having no romantic interest in a woman who discarded lovers without thought or care. He was, to be honest, relieved that Qualth had not flown Luvatath since her ascension to senior queen. While Bl'mol seemed to find amusement in Eloria's indiscretions, N'thal suspected he himself would feel humiliation under those same circumstances.

Eloria shook her head and laughed, unflappable against his objection and somehow amused by it. N'thal gritted his teeth for finding her irritating. She looked sideways through her eyelashes and sobered, clearing her throat to say, "N'thal, it's been some Turns. I hope you aren't still stuck on my sister's memory. If you won't have me, at least consider courting Miralise's affections. Someone outside of Fort needs to take the Weyrleadership from J'vrex, and for her sake, it'd be better if that was you than if it was L'nan. She's a sweet girl, if a bit boring. She needs a Weyrleader who won't overpower her."

N'thal felt his anger rising but knew the emotion covered the sadness from that unhealed wound. He breathed deeply and bowed his head, saying, "I won't have you bringing Yelora into this, Eloria."

"For Faranth's sake, Yelora's been dead for four fardling Turns," snapped Eloria. "Do you even—"

"You were the one who banned me from junior flights, Eloria, and now you demand I court some young weyrwoman for political advantage? What about her wellbeing? You think a young woman isn't going to want children just because you don't?"

Eloria hopped off the stool and squared off, brandishing an indignant fist at him as she began shouting. "You've crossed a line, wingleader! Yelora's choices didn't play into why I banned Qualth from flights, and you fardling well know it! As Weyrwoman, it's my duty to make sure this Weyr has strong bloodlines!"

"Eloria! N'thal! ENOUGH!" Bl'mol yelled. When their attention snapped to him—their eyes wide at provoking remonstrative shouts from their mild-mannered Weyrleader—he continued hoarsely, "That's quite enough out of both of you. Think on it, N'thal. I've trained you to be a fine wingleader and to take over as Weyrleader. Who on Pern is better prepared to undertake revitalizing Fort? So undertake this investigation, help them in that time of need, and that Weyr will accept you with open arms."

Holding himself to his full height, N'thal responded with as much dispassionate stoicism as he could muster, "I am content with my position at Benden, Weyrleader."

"I'm as proud of you as I am of my own sons, N'thal," Bl'mol told him, sounding empathetic while leveling a stern gaze upon his deputy, "but do not mistake my informality with you as openness to insubordination. Pern's best chances rest on your investigation. We cannot have the Weyrs divided, and we cannot afford Fort's present weakness. You may or may not become Weyrleader; the only certainty in a Pass is that Thread will destroy us all if we do not sear it from the skies. I want you to prepare your wing to spend autumn and winter at Fort Weyr. Focus on the investigations that we have placed in your capable hands. Whatever else happens, happens. Dismissed until further notice."

Humbled by Bl'mol's firm but gentle admonishment, N'thal bowed to his Weyrleaders and walked from the weyr. He would focus on this investigation because old Bl'mol asked it of him, but the void could take Benden's Weyrleaders if Qualth flew the Fortian queen.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : Hey! This is merely a teaser chapter for a longer fic in the works. I'm searching for a beta, which I should need around August or September. If you have any questions about the fic or about potentially being a beta reader, please do contact me in reviews or private messaging. The story is cross-posted on Ao3.


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